“That’s where they turned,” Biff said.
Charlie nodded his head, but kept on going.
“Aren’t you going to turn in?” Biff asked anxiously.
“Not right away. We’re too close behind them.”
Charlie continued on down the paved road for a quarter of a mile, then U-turned and came back. He cut to the left into the rough road they had just passed, pulled up, and cut his motor.
Biff and Charlie got out. Charlie went ahead, inspecting the road. It was composed of sand and crushed shells.
“This is it, Biff. I’m positive. See those deep tracks? Hasn’t been time for the sand to have shifted and run back to fill them in. These roads with sand show tracks much as a snow-covered road does.”
Biff was convinced. Not only by his uncle’s skill at picking out fresh tracks, but because he hadn’t seen any other road in that vicinity. It had to be the road the black car had just turned down.
“Let’s figure our next move, Biff,” Charlie said. The two got back into the sports car.
“I think I know where we are. There used to be a big estate somewhere around here. It’s been closed up for some years. There’s one large house, a hacienda, and several smaller outbuildings. An ideal place to hide out, particularly if you wanted to hold someone prisoner. Let’s put our plotting machine to work for a few minutes.”